


Innocence Died Screaming

by dfotw



Series: DA Shared Universe [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfotw/pseuds/dfotw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It wasn't the Grey Wardens' fault that they had arrived too late; too late to save Surana, too late to spare Cullen three days of torture, and too early to let him die doing his duty.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Cullen's PoV of the events after the Broken Circle quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innocence Died Screaming

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the joint Dragon Age universe I have with [yunhaiiro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yunhaiiro/pseuds/yunhaiiro), set just after the end of the Broken Circle quest.
> 
> Title is from Hozier's "From Eden".

The Templars' quarters were just about the only part of the Circle Tower currently not in ruins, filled with dead bodies, covered in offal, or worse, so when Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving had extended a joint invitation for the Grey Wardens to stay the night and rest after their valiant rescue of what was left of Ferelden's Circle of Magic, that's where they were led.

Cullen was crouched by the flames blazing in the fireplace, trying to stop the shaking which he blamed on the cold. Senior Enchanter Wynne had healed him on their way down to get Greagoir to open the doors, so he was as healthy of body as he could possibly be. His mind, though... he shivered, and moved closer to the fire, though it was almost licking his boots. 

He could feel the glances of his fellow templars on him, measuring, calculating, weighing; there would be doubts about what had been done to him, how he'd be able to resist, if he'd really withstood the demon's wiles. He'd be suspect for a long time.

A clang of armoured boots made him look up. The Grey Wardens had entered the hall and were being shown to some of the many empty pallets there would be there that night. The one who walked in first was a red-headed elf in light armour, frowning under the Dalish facemarkings, a mabari hound following close at his feels. He was followed by a tall man in splint mail who looked around the quarters with a grimace; for some reason, Cullen thought he looked somewhat familiar. Behind them went a tall, dark-skinned Grey Warden in heavy armour who seemed to be listening intently at the stammered explanations being given to her by a rather flustered Templar Garrel.

Cullen looked back to the fire and tried to make himself think. Think about the signs they'd missed on Uldred and all his accomplices. Think about what he could have done better when chaos broke forth. Think about arguments to convince the Knight-Commander to go ahead with the Right of Annulment, even if Cullen himself had to be subject to it.

Don't think about Surana's body, trampled in the stairs leading to the upper levels. She'd been trying to reach Irving, foolish girl, and Cullen, a thousand times more the fool, had been trying to follow her.

A cold nose on his cheek pulled Cullen out of his reverie. He turned to find himself face-to-snout with a mabari, who woofed at him happily when it saw it'd gotten his attention. It wasn't the one still sitting at the elf Warden's feet, regarding its surroundings with the same haughty mistrust as its master, but a smaller, friendlier dog who licked Cullen's face and sat in front of him, wagging its stumpy tail happily.

In any other circumstances, Cullen would have ignored it: he was a templar with centuries of borrowed dignity to uphold. But tonight he was heartsick and cold to the bone, his ichor-splattered armour abandoned on the ground besides his pallet, so he reached for the mabari to scratch behind its ears and instead somehow ended up with his face buried in the beast's neck, tears leaking onto its warm fur.

He allowed himself to cry for a couple of minutes, then drew back from the mabari and wiped his face with the sleeve of his tunic. The mabari, not be deterred, tried to help by licking his face, and Cullen had to push it away with a little huff of laughter.

“Down, Beast,” a voice said nearby. Cullen jumped; he'd forgotten he was surrounded not only by his fellow templars, but also by the strangers who'd saved them all. “Sorry,” the blond Grey Warden continued, trying fruitlessly to drag back the mabari by its collar. “Beast gets all friendly when he thinks someone needs his support. Not that I'm talking from experience or that he's spent whole evenings making me play fetch with him or anything... sorry, I'm Alistair. And, um, you probably want to be left alone. Sorry, again.”

“It's fine,” Cullen made himself say. The mabari growled at Alistair until he let go of its collar, then rolled on its back and gave Cullen a ridiculous, tongue-lolling, upside-down doggy smile until he reached to scratch its belly. “You have a fine hound.”

“Oh, Beast is not mine. At all. I wish!” The blond man laughed awkwardly. “He's Malia's. The, um, tall, striking Grey Warden over there. You know, the one who talked to you before, upstairs?”

Her voice had been kind and firm and patient as she talked to him, a piece of driftwood in a sea of madness, holding him steady until he managed to find footing in reality. Cullen cringed at the thought of what he must have looked like in front of the brave Grey Wardens, a whimpering, crazed mess in templar armour.

“You're Cullen, right?” Alistair continued, crouching to scratch at the mabari's belly too; the dog wriggled in an ecstasy of happiness. “I... you probably don't remember me, but I was at Kinloch Hold too. I wasn't very good at it, I was probably lucky Duncan recruited me into the Grey Wardens two weeks before I had to give my vows. But, wow, did the teachers ever like to use you as an example of what we should be doing! Sword forms, reciting the Chant of Light, what have you, according to them you did everything well.”

Cullen frowned slightly. He didn't remember the teachers at Kinloch being so kind to him. He also didn't remember the man in front of him, but then again, he'd never paid much attention to the younger kids.

“I'm sorry, I don't...” he began.

“Remember me?” Alistair finished for him, chuckling. “Well, I can't say I'm surprised, not many people do. Just another dumb blond kid running around with a sword too big for him. You were Cullen of Honnleath, and you probably had better things to do than notice every recruit who was assigned to polish your armour because they were caught doodling runes on their Chantry history homework.”

“Honnleath?” a female voice asked.

The other two Grey Wardens approached them. The elf was looking at Beast and Cullen with disapproval, and Cullen bristled a bit, pulling the dog closer just to be contrary; the mabari went along happily, laying its massive head on Cullen's lap and huffing a sigh of bliss when he started scratching behind its ears.

“Honnleath. Where have I heard that name before?” asked the elf. 

“The merchant we met the other day in the pass,” the female Grey Warden replied, sitting in front of the fire, a respectable distance away from Cullen. The mabari lifted its head to look at her, but she just smiled and shook her head. “Get your cuddles where you can, you silly dog.”

The mabari settled again against Cullen.

“Ah, yes, the merchant who gave us...”

“Are you from Honnleath, Ser Cullen?” The female Grey Warden interrupted Alistair with an apologetic look which she promptly turned on Cullen himself. “I apologise, there was no time for introductions earlier. I'm Malia Cous-... ah.” Her smile turned fragile for a moment. “Grey Warden Malia, and this is Grey Warden Kwerkus.”

“Honoured to meet you, Grey Wardens.” For a moment, Cullen wondered if he ought to stand and give a proper bow, but he was so tired, and Malia was sitting artlessly on the warmed flagstones while Kwerkus stood by the fireplace, still frowning. “Yes, I hail from Honnleath. I have not been there in years, though.”

“I can imagine, it's quite far south.” Her voice was still kind, still steady, as if they were chatting on sunny afternoon at the entrance of the Chantry in Denerim instead of warming up in front of the only fire lit in a tower filled with the dead. “The merchant we met, he had a funny story about Honnleath. He said there was a golem there?”

“Ah, that old thing.” Cullen shook his head. “It's just a statue in the main square now. It killed the mage who owned it many years ago and since then it hasn't moved. I was just a child then, but I remember the Templars who arrived to investigate Master Wilhem's death. They were the most impressive thing our village had ever seen.”

“More impressive than a golem?” asked Warden Kwerkus, sounding unconvinced.

“I'll have you know templars are very stylish,” said Alistair.

Warden Malia gave Cullen a small smile and an apologetic look. She was still wearing her armour, which had been hastily wiped clean but still bore traces of blood and ichor in the joints, and there was a line of pink flesh in her brown jaw where a healing spell was still at work. The Grey Wardens had fought their way from the tower entrance to the Observation Chamber, through all the abominations and possessed mages that had taken down Cullen's comrades-in-arms, and she still had time for a smile. Cullen felt she deserved the warning that burbled up his throat.

“You must know can't control magic,” Cullen confided to her in a low voice, under the sound of the other two Wardens squabbling; Alistair was saying something about purple and yellow tunics and pillow fights. “Sooner or later, something like this happens, like the golem beating its master into a pulp on his porch. We mustn't forget that.”

Her smile faded, and her hand went to her throat. They had faced all the horrors that had taken the tower, they had defeated the demon in the Fade, they were seeking help with a child possessed by a demon, so Cullen felt she had to understand. But then she met his eyes and shook her head, and Cullen had to look down to the mabari in his lap and swallow down the bile that threatened to rise up his throat. 

It wasn't the Grey Wardens' fault that they had arrived too late; too late to save Surana, too late to spare Cullen three days of torture, and too early to let him die doing his duty. It wasn't their fault that they'd leave the following morning, laden with the First Enchanter's promises, their eyes already on their next prize, their next mission, leaving Cullen behind without a mabari to keep him company, only suspicious, pitying eyes, and the body of the woman he loved waiting to be burnt in a common pyre.

“I'm sorry,” he said, scrambling to his feet unsteadily. The mabari, deprived of his perch, whined. “I must retire. Maker watch over you, Grey Wardens.”

In spite of his abrupt goodbye, he'd barely tugged the thin blankets over his head when he heard a hopeful 'woof!' from the side of the bed. He resisted for almost a minute before giving in with a choked 'fine' that had the mabari jumping onto the bed besides him in a flash and making itself at home. 

In spite of the warm presence by his side, Cullen didn't sleep that night, or in many others to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
